


You Keep Showing Up

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles recognized him the second their eyes met. Derek Hale, who'd been run out of town all those years ago by Stiles' father. Stiles is supposed to hate him. He kind of does, at least at first. And maybe he still would, if Derek would learn to stay the hell out of his life. Sadly, he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Keep Showing Up

Stiles could smell it on Scott, the familiar scent of a bitten werewolf that he’d only caught a few times in his life, but that had stuck with him. He didn’t mention it, though. He couldn’t. It wasn’t like he could just turn to his best friend and say, “Hey, dude, you know how something bit you last night? Well, congrats, buddy, you’re a werewolf. Oh, P.S., I’m a werewolf too. Except I was born a werewolf and you were bitten. No biggy, want to go to my house and play some Call of Duty?”

“I just need to find my inhaler.” Scott murmured, looking closely at the ground at his feet. “I swear I dropped it right over--

Stiles put a hand on Scott’s chest, stopping him. The wind wiped around them, bringing with it the scent of something not too far away. Stiles attempted to sniff the air without Scott noticing, tilting his head to the left to pick up the scent.

He whirled around suddenly and Scott followed him, his movement slightly slower.

“Looking for this?”

A boy stood there, dark brown hair mused and greyish green eyes focused on Scott. His body, on the other hand, was turned towards Stiles.

He tossed Scott’s inhaler through the air and Scott caught it, already his reflexes improved.

And the entire time Stiles just stood there, body tensed, muscles ready to pounce. Every instinct inside him was screaming _fight_. Because he recognized that scent, too. And those eyes, and that face. Even if he hadn’t seen him in year, not since his house burnt down and most of his family died, Stiles would never be able to forget him.

His eyes flicked to Stiles for just a moment, and then Scott whispered something that Stiles didn’t catch and the boy disappeared.

“I said who was that guy?” Scott repeated, raising his eyebrows in at his best friend.

Stiles buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Derek Hale.” Stiles said calmly. “That was Derek Hale.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s back in town.” Stiles told his father the instant he got home.

Sheriff Stilinski looked up from his paper work. So quickly that any normal person wouldn’t be able to catch it, his eyes flashed a deep, blood red.

“That’s impossible.” The sheriff said, returning to his paperwork.

Stiles grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and popped the tab, taking a long sip of it before speaking. “It was him.” Stiles said quietly, placing the bottle on the counter. “It was Derek. He followed Scott and I in the woods.”

His father didn’t look up this time, but Stiles noticed his nails extending into long, sharp talons. They dug into the kitchen table, leaving behind deep, ragged grooves.

“I told him that if anyone in his family ever comes back here, I’ll kill them.” The sheriff said while examining the damage he did to the table. “You see him again, Stiles, and you rip out his throat.”

And he would, because that is exactly what Derek’s family did to his mother.

 

* * *

 

Stiles dug through his locker, looking for his missing history paper. It had to be here somewhere. He was sure he put it on the top shelf, but it wasn’t there.

He was just about to slam the door shut when someone came up behind him and leaned against the locker beside his. The same someone who had followed him and Scott that day in the woods.

“What do you want?” Stiles demanded, closing the locker door while he spoke.

They were in a crowded hallway. There were other students everywhere and numerous teachers only a few feet away. That was all that was keeping Stiles from attacking Derek right then and there.

“Your friend,” Derek asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you tell him what he is?”

Stiles ignored the way the leather pulled tightly over Derek’s biceps and frowned. “No. I haven’t told him yet.” He admitted.

Derek nodded, just once. “What about the thing that bit him? Did you figure that out yet?”

Stiles could feel the anger rising up inside him, the way it did on the full moon. It was like getting into the bath when the water was too warm. It slowly crawled its way up his body, causing his hands to clench into fists. Just like during the full moon, he controlled it. He centered himself, trying to think calming thoughts. Except Derek just stood there and smirked, as if he could tell what Stiles was doing, and that set him off again.

And then before he could stop himself he was grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt, pressing him hard against the locker. There was the loud thud of flesh hitting metal and Stiles almost smiled, the sound pleasing him.

“You think I don’t know who did that to him?” Stiles demanded. It was taking everything in him to keep his eyes from flashing the vibrant green colour they usually turned when he changed. “The second you came up to us in the woods, I knew it was you.”

Derek pushed him back, his palms hitting Stiles’ shoulders gently but with enough force to get him off. “There you go again, blaming my family for crimes we didn’t commit.” Derek narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you ever get tired of being wrong?”

Stiles was momentarily frozen, too shocked to move. But he was lying, of course. That’s what his family did. They lied and they murdered, and they all deserved to be punished.

“Don’t talk to me again.” Stiles said quietly, putting all the fury raging inside him into his words. “If you do, I swear to god it will be the last thing you say to anyone.”

Derek walked away, shouldering past student after students until he pulled open the door to the school. Stiles listened, waiting for him to walk out of it so he could relax again.

He caught the words just before the door closed shut, spoken too quietly for anyone else to pick up. “Maybe I was trying to help you.”

 

* * *

 

“Want to come over later? I’ve got to work tonight but I’m free until--,”

“I can’t.” Stiles had already made up a plan in his head. He’d been mulling over Derek’s words all afternoon, hardly paying any attention in his classes. Well, okay, he never paid attention in those classes anyways, but usually it was because he was reading a comic under the table, or texting Scott, or watching Lydia flip her hair over her shoulder.

“That’s probably better, anyways.” Scott admitted. He gave Stiles a sidelong look. “I’ve been feeling kind of off all day.”

“Just take a nap or something. You’re probably getting the flu..” And someone needed to give him the award for Worst Friend in Existence.

What he needed to do was sit Scott down and explain everything to him. He needed to finally tell him the truth about everything, about his family and his life, and the truth about what he was now becoming.

But he couldn’t do any of those things until he talked to Derek.

“You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Scott said, veering off towards the woods so he could cut through them to get home.

 

* * *

 

The ride to the Hale house was short. Stiles knew the road off by heart from when he was younger, before his mother died and everything changed.

He hadn’t been back up there since the fire that destroyed it. For some reason he could never bring himself to go near the place. He even found himself taking the long way to get to places, just to avoid going by the road that led towards the house.

He knew what had happened there, and yet seeing the place still shocked him. It had once been a beautiful house. The biggest, nicest house he’d ever seen. And now it was in ruins. The fact that it was still able to stand without collapsing in on itself was actually surprising.

There were too many other scents, like the lingering smell of the fire and the woods surrounding the house, for Stiles to tell if Derek was inside. Plus, it was Derek’s old house. His scent would be all over the place anyways.

Stiles parked the jeep out front and jumped out of it, listening carefully to everything around him in case Derek was somewhere waiting and decided to attack.

He climbed the steps of the porch, careful to avoid the third step where it looked like it was going to cave in.

The front door stood half open, hanging off its hinges. It looked like the smallest wind could knock the whole thing down and Stiles hesitated, worried that just that would happen if he stepped foot inside.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, pushing down his own fear. He took a step into the house, floorboard creaking under his weight.

When no one answered he walked farther into the house. The living room was empty so he continued on, through the hallway and too the kitchen. Still nothing.

There was the upstairs, too. Well, the part that hadn’t caved in. Maybe Derek was up there, in his old room.

Stiles started up the steps. There were a few rotted ones here, too, and he had to pay attention to where he stepped.

He was paying a bit too much attention to where he was going and not enough to the world around him, and something solid knocked into him.

Stiles fell down the stairs, back hitting every step with a painful thud. When he finally hit the bottom he realized what hit him.

Derek Hale stood crouched over him, eyes blazing a shocking blue, teeth long and sharp enough to tear through his skin and claws extended.

“I might not blame the children for the acts of the adults like your family does,” Derek growled, voice muffled by his teeth. “But how dare you come into this house after what your family did here.”

Stiles was too shocked to defend himself. He lay there, underneath the weight of Derek’s body, heart hammering in his chest. “After what my family did here?” Stiles repeated. “We didn’t do anything to you! Your family killed my mother but we let you _go_. After the fire, after everything else, we let what was left of your family walk out of here.”

Derek laughed. “Exactly. After the fire. After nearly every single person I cared about what dead!”

Derek’s hand slammed into the floor beside Stiles head. A splinter of wood lodged itself in Stiles’ cheek and he reached up to bat it away.

“What? You think we did that? You think my family did that?” Stiles argued, pushing himself up with the palm of his hands. “Guess again, Derek!”

Derek grabbed Stiles by the throat and slammed his head back down. “Get out of my house.”

“Kind of hard to do with you pinning me to the floor,” Stiles wheezed, trying to breath despite the pressure on his throat.

Derek released him and Stiles scrambled up. He felt a knot in his stomach, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear. Because Derek was very capable of hurting him, if he wanted to. He was larger then Stiles, a body full of tight, strong muscle. And Stiles hadn’t been able to do anything to fight him.

“You want to talk to me, we do it somewhere else.” Derek told him. “If my sister catches you here--,” he turned away. “She’ll be back soon. You might want to be gone before that because if you’re not, trust me, your mother won’t be the only family member your father will be mourning.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles dad worked that night. He usually took the late shift during weeknights and Stiles was used to it. He stopped waiting up for his dad to get home years ago, and now sleeping in an empty house was normal for him.

For some reason, though, he spent that night tossing in his bed. He couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how many different positions he tried. His mind just wouldn’t calm down, and the events of the day kept replaying over and over again.

He heard the front door of his house open and close, and figured his dad must be home. One look at the clock told him other wise.

It was only 1am. His father wouldn’t be home for another four hours.

Stiles slipped out of bed, looking for something to put on. Sleeping in just a pair of boxers was fine. Fighting in just a pair of boxers? Not such a good idea. Too much exposed skin.

He was groping around the floor for a pair of pants when he heard the distinct sound of nails sliding against plaster. Only one thing ran through his mind.

_Derek_.

Instinctively, his body brought on the change, bracing itself for a fight. The familiar surge of power made its way through him, taking with it any fear that he had felt.

His bedroom door flew open, nearly falling off its hinges with the force. Derek stepped into the room, eyes blazing. They were like the blue of a too hot flame and Stiles could almost feel them burning into him.

“I’ll kill you all!” Derek shouted, taking a step towards him.

It was then that Stiles noticed Derek’s hands were covered in blood. His shirt was soaked through with it, and there were a few streaks of it on his face from where he must have touched himself.

Stiles didn’t have time to move out of the way as Derek grabbed his arm and threw him across the room. He hit his dresser hard, the edge of it digging into his ribs. That would likely bruise, if he was human.

“Where is he?” Derek demanded. He was crouching now, almost standing on all fours. His head was tilted upwards, nostrils flared, as he sniffed the air.

“M-my dad’s not here!” Stiles told him, stumbling over his words.

Derek moved so fast that even Stiles, werewolf abilities and all, almost couldn’t see him. He blinked and suddenly Derek was there, close enough that Stiles could feel his breath tickle his cheek, and could smell the blood on his hands.

“Then maybe I’ll kill you first,” Derek considered, tilting his head to the side. “Leave you cut up in pieces for him to find, the same way he left Laura!”

Stiles knew to duck this time, and Derek’s fist ended up buried in the wall behind him.

“Killing my parents wasn’t enough?” Derek asked, turning around quickly. Now some of the blood covering his hand was his own, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “What about my cousins? My aunts and uncles? You needed more?” There was nothing human in Derek’s eyes at that moment. He was completely bestial. “She was all I had left, and now even that’s been taken away from me!”

This time he didn’t try to come after Stiles again. Instead, he sunk onto Stiles bed and buried his face in his bloody hands.

“Why leave me?” Derek wondered, his words smothered by the hands in front of his face. “I don’t understand why I’m still alive when they’re all dead! Why not kill me too?” He looked up at Stiles through bloodshot eyes. “What did I do to deserve watching everyone I love die?”

A part of him wanted to approach Derek, wanted to put a comforting hand on his back and make sure he’d be okay. The logical part of him stayed planted where he was, knowing that Derek could attack at any given moment.

“Laura’s dead?”

Derek laughed bitterly. “Like you don’t know. I’m sure you helped him rip apart, didn’t you Stiles?”

“I didn’t-- my dad wouldn’t kill Laura.” Stiles protested at the same time his father’s words from the other day echoed in his mind.

He had said he would kill any Hale that stepped foot in Beacon Hills again. Had he meant it? Had he gone after Derek’s sister?

“Do you remember before it all happened?” Derek asked, staring at the wall beside Stiles’ bed. “I can still remember. Your mom used to bring you over all the time for playdates. Laura absolutely hated you. She still thought boys were gross. And we’d play lacrosse in my backyard, and our mother’s would watch us carefully because someone always ended up getting hurt, usually you, and they would laugh at us because the stick was bigger than you are?”

Stiles hesitated, unsure of how to react to this. Just a minute ago Derek was barging into his room, trying to kill him, and now he was talking about before. When things were still okay. When both of their families were whole and neither of them knew what it felt like to have someone taken away from them.

“I didn’t actually come here to kill you, you know.” Derek said quietly when Stiles didn’t reply. “I came here because I figured one of you might finish me off. Get it over with.” He shook his head and let out a shaky breath.

Whatever had been holding Stiles back before disappeared, and he took a cautious step towards the other boy. When he didn’t react, Stiles went over to the bed and sat beside Derek.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing. Hell, he was used to pushing all his own emotions away, so trying to deal with someone else’s was next to impossible.

“You’re saying that, even though you still think we killed your mother?”

And there it was again, Derek’s absolute belief that his family had nothing to do with his mother’s death. Stiles didn’t want to tell him. Not now, anyways. He didn’t need to know that it was true. That his parents had actually killed Stiles’ mom. His dad had proof, he’d seen it. Seen them do it. But he had been too late to stop it, and he’d nearly died from trying anyways.

“It’s kind of funny,” Derek said, looking into Stiles eyes. “It felt like the end of the world, after the fire. And slowly, afterwards, everything started to get okay again. And then we had to come back here, because Laura wanted to and now she’s gone too. It should feel like that again. I keep expecting it to. But it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. It doesn’t feel like anything.” His green eyes held a hint of panic. “Stiles, I can’t feel _any_ thing.”

Stiles put a gentle hand on Derek’s shoulder and the other boy seemed to fall apart. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion, seeing every fragment break into shards until all you have left is tiny pieces that can never be made whole again. That is what happened when Derek slumped against Stiles’ hand and let his head fall forward and his eyes close.

Stiles stood up immediately and grabbed Derek by the arm. He tried to pull the other boy up but it was like trying to move a two hundred pound rag doll.

“Come on.” Stiles ordered.

Derek looked up at him with those lost, broken eyes and finally allowed Stiles to bring him to his feet. Once he was standing, Stiles led him to the bathroom down the hall. He turned on the faucet and let the water run for a few seconds until it go just warm enough.

He gently guided Derek’s hands to the sink and let the water pour over them. The water cleaned off most of the blood, turning a pinkish colour as it swirled down the drain. Stiles reached for a cloth and dampened it before spreading Derek’s fingers apart. He gently worked the cloth into the crevices between Derek’s large fingers. He wiped down his nails until the dried blood finally disappeared from beneath them and finally the horrible, rusty red colour of blood on his hands was replaced by the natural, golden tan of his skin.

All the while Derek stood there, stone still, and watched the blood of his sister wash away.

When they were finished and Stiles had dried Derek’s hand, he led the other boy back to his bedroom. For reason’s unknown to him, Stiles felt a surge of protectiveness over Derek. Maybe it was witnessing someone completely break, or maybe it was seeing someone so strong and capable be so weak, but he didn’t want to let Derek go.

Or maybe it was because he could relate. Maybe not completely, because he hadn’t lost everyone in his life, but he knew what it felt like to lose those important to you. It was like having a limb cut off. Even though it wasn’t there any longer, you could still feel where it was. Where it ought to be.

He remembered what it was like right after his mother died. How he would wake up every morning and it was almost like the entire thing had been a dream, until he went down stairs and she wasn’t there, waiting for him.

But his father was still there. Sure, he was gone most of the time because of his job, but if Stiles really needed him, he was there. Derek didn’t have that.

“Your father will kill us both if he finds out I’m here.” Derek said quietly as Stiles guided him back to his bed.

Stiles shrugged. “He won’t be home for a few more hours.”

Derek lay down on Stiles bed and Stiles stood there at the end of it, watching the larger boy spread out. Lucky for him he wasn’t much taller then Stiles and his feet didn’t fall off the edge. His body was wider, though, and he took up far more of the bed then Stiles ever managed to.

“Okay, but I still shouldn’t be here.” Derek muttered, throwing an arm over his face. “We’re supposed to hate each other.

“Yeah, well, I’m also supposed to be really smart but I’m failing half of my classes.” Stiles replied, trying to lighten the mood. He went to the side of the bed Derek wasn’t occupying and laid down.

Their arms brushed against each other but neither of them made any effort to move. After a few minutes of silence Derek slipped into a deep sleep. Stiles followed soon after, drifting off to the sound of Derek’s even breathing.

 

* * *

 

Stiles awoke to someone yanking him out of bed. He stumbled, his eyes trying to adjust to the bright light. He blinked twice and slowly the room came into the focus, as did his father, who was standing over Derek, nails extended, ready to tear out his throat.

“Get up.” His father ordered, not moving his hands. It was the werewolf equivalent to holding a gun to someone’s head.

Derek had no choice but to slowly move his body out of Stiles bed.

“You come near my son, ever again,” Sherriff Stilinski said, his words barely a whisper but holding enough menace to make the hair on Stiles’ arm stick up. “And I will kill you. I swear to it. Now get out of my house before I change my mind and do it right now.”

Derek didn’t look at Stiles even once as he quickly left the bedroom. The sheriff watched him go and then turned to his son. He opened his mouth to say something but then stopped himself and turned towards the door.

“Dad, wait. You don’t understand. Laura’s dead and--,”

“Laura’s dead?” His father repeated, his eyebrows drawing together in concern for a moment. “That’s not my problem. I don’t even know what to say to you right now, letting him in our house. You know what his family did. What they’re capable of.” his father shook his head in disappointment. “No son of mine will ever befriend a Hale. Do you understand me?”

There was no waver in his voice, no doubt in his eyes. He meant every word of it.

“I understand.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles drove to school the next morning feeling more exhausted then he usually did. After the scene with his father and Derek, he hadn’t managed to get much sleep. Plus, there was Scott, nagging at the back of his mind.

The full moon was tomorrow night. If he didn’t get everything out in the open soon, and make Scott listen and believe him, then he was going to have to go with Plan B: tying Scott up in his basement. Easily the least desirable choice, he would do it, but only if he had to. Nothing ruins friendship like locking each other up.

He parked his jeep in the school lot and was just opening his door when the passenger door swung open and Derek vaulted inside quickly.

Stiles’ emotions didn’t know what to do. Fear, anger, annoyance all ran through his mind but in the end he settled on relief. Derek was fine. Well, he was in one piece, at least. He was still wearing the bloody shirt from last night and his eyes still held the pain from the night before, but he wasn’t hurt.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Stiles said despite his feelings. “If my dad--,”

“Your dad is at work. I watched him pull into the police station.”

“Then what do you want?” Stiles asked, looking anxiously at the school. They were blocked in by other cars, but Beacon Hills wasn’t a very big town. What if someone saw them and told his dad?

Derek hesitated, not meeting Stiles eyes. “I came to-- to thank you.” He said the words slowly, as if they were hard to get out. “For last night.”

Stiles nodded. “No problem. I’m always happy to help the guy who breaks into my house with the intent of killing me and my dad.”

Derek winced. “I’m sorry.” He turned to Stiles now and he looked like he genuinely meant it. “I- I wasn’t thinking straight. I just- I saw her dead body, laying on the floor of our old house, ripped apart and I lost it.”

Sympathy rose up in Stiles again and he wanted to comfort Derek like he had last night. But he couldn’t. What would his dad think? He’d be ashamed. He might even grow to hate Stiles if he knew.

“I’ve got to get to class.” Stiles said quickly, putting his hand on the door handle.

“Wait, I came here for a reason. I went back to the house last night and the scent- it wasn’t your dad. He didn’t kill Laura. His scent wasn’t anywhere in the house.”

His blood seemed to turn into ice in his veins as the words registered in his mind. “Then what did it?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet it’s the same thing that bit your friend.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve got a date,” Scott said excitedly, running up to Stiles locker. He stood there on the tips of his toes, bouncing around like a puppy. “An actual date. With Allison.”

Stiles clapped him on the back. “Good job, buddy.”

“We’re going to the party tomorrow night. I just need to ask my mom if we can borrow the car.” Scott continued. He looked about ready to burst with joy.

And Stiles heart sunk in his chest. Scott couldn’t go to that party. Tomorrow was the full moon. He needed to be inside, locked up and safe, at least for his first change. If not, things could get very dangerous for everyone.

“About that…” Stiles said quietly, not meeting his friends eyes. “Is there any way you could reschedule? There’s some things I need to talk to you about. Really important things and--,”

Scott gave him an incredulous look. “Reschedule? Are you serious? This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me! I’m not cancelling.”

Well, you can’t go because you’re a werewolf and tomorrow is the full moon and chances are instead of a goodnight kiss you’ll end up ripping out Allison’s throat so maybe you should reschedule, Stiles thought, but he didn’t say it. Scott would never listen to him, not now that Allison was part of the picture.

She’d only been in town, what? A week? And Scott was already head over paws for her. Nothing Stiles could say, especially if it concerned supernatural creatures, would do any good.

“You know what, actually, maybe we should go together. Like a double date.” Stiles said, an idea popping up in his mind. “I’ll drive.”

“No offence, Stiles, but you need to actually have a date for a double date to work.” Scott pointed out.

Stiles resisted the urge to grin. “I know. I’ve got one.”

 

* * *

 

  
“No.” Derek said firmly.

“But--,”

“I need to figure out who killed my sister. I don’t have time to baby sit you best friend.” Derek told him.

It had been easier to find Derek then Stiles thought it would be. He followed his scent from the school parking lot all the way to the abandoned warehouse on Fraiser street. It was messy and there were broken pieces of metal everywhere, but it was secluded. Not the worst choice for someone who needed to be hidden. Not that Derek needed to be hidden. He figured as long as Derek and his father avoided each other, everything would be fine.

“What if I help you?” Stiles offered. “You help me with this, and I’ll help you find what killed your sister.”

Derek turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “What about your dad? He made it pretty clear that he would skin me alive if we were caught near each other again, and I don’t think he’d be much happier with you either.”

Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his short hair. “I can’t handle Scott on my own. I need help with this. And you need me, too.” Stiles pointed out. “Don’t deny it because we both know it’s true.”

The fight seemed to leave Derek’s eyes and his shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he agreed, turning back to whatever he was doing when Stiles had entered the warehouse. “But you better have a plan.”

“Of course I do.” Stiles lied.

 

* * *

 

“So where’s your date?” Scott asked, eying Derek, who was sitting in the passenger seat, looking surly.

“Right here.” Stiles said, and patted Derek’s leg before Derek gave him a look that clearly warned him not to do that again.

Apparently their bonding moment last night had passed and Derek‘s normal personality was shinning through again. Stiles couldn’t deny that he preferred this Derek, the one with a bit of life in his eyes and spice in his attitude, but Derek from last night had been easier to deal with.

“That’s… cool.” Scott said, throwing a confused look in Stiles direction before extending his hand to Derek through the gap between the front seats. “I’m Scott.”

“Derek.” He said, taking Scott’s hand an shaking it briefly.

Stiles almost laughed out loud on the expression on his best friends face as he pulled away from Scott’s house. Scott had gotten Allison’s address earlier today and Stiles knew the neighbourhood pretty well, so finding her house wasn’t too hard.

Stiles could hear Scott’s heart rate pick up as they pulled up in front of her house. It was hammering a mile a minute and Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles, obviously able to hear it as well.

Stiles wondered if anyone would ever have that affect on him. He’d had a crush on Lydia for years, but the thought of her didn’t make him freak out the way Allison did to Scott. Or was that something that only a few people got in their lives? That absolute, completely crazy feeling for someone else.

 

* * *

 

“So what’s your plan?” Derek asked as Scott, accompanied by Allison, disappeared into the crowd of people.

“Watch him and grab him if it looks like anything is about to happen.” Stiles said, giving Derek a sheepish look. It wasn’t much of a plan and he knew it, but he didn’t really have many options. “Until then, he thinks we’re on a date, so…”

“So, what?”

“So, I guess we need to dance. Or something.” Stiles frowned. “I don’t know, I’ve never been on a date before!”

“Well first of all we should probably go find Scott because there’s too many people in here. I can’t locate his scent.” Derek pointed out.

Stiles paused and tried to find Scott. It would be easier for him, since that scent was almost as familiar to him as his own. Derek was right, though. He couldn’t distinguish Scott from everyone else.

“He went this way.” Stiles pointed to the left. He grabbed Derek’s hand, only because he didn’t want to get lost from him, too. That’s what he told himself, anyways. Derek didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed Stiles to drag him through the house.

And there was Scott, arms wrapped around Allison, dancing by the pool. The music was louder out here, coming from a nearby sound system. It was almost deafening, especially to Stiles’ oversensitive hearing. He resisted the urge to cover his ears and noticed that Derek seemed to be having the same issue.

“I can’t focus!” Derek yelled over the music. “It’s like a pounding in my skull, I can’t--,”

Stiles nodded and pointed at the far corner of the backyard. They would still be able to watch Scott from there and make a move quickly if they needed to, but they’d also be as far away from the music as they could possibly get.

When the reached the corner it was like a pressure was lifted from Stiles’ shoulders. The world around him seemed to clear and he could focus again. Derek, beside him, sighed in relief.

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles questioned before he could stop himself.

Derek’s eyes didn’t leave Scott as he nodded.

“You see- it’s just, yesterday you were so-,” Stiles paused, not sure what he was even asking. “You seem okay today. Not at all like last night.”

Derek shrugged, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. “I’m over getting over things.” He said, voice low. “I’m ready to get even. It’s easier to deal with pain when you’re filled with anger.”

“That’s not exactly healthy.” Stiles commented, a sliver of worry going through him.

Derek chuckled but there was nothing humorous about the sound. It was menacing at best, heartbreaking at worst. “No, but it sure feels a lot better.”

“When you give yourself over to the anger, it’s nearly impossible to come back from it.” He put a hand on Derek’s arm.

“I’d rather feel angry for the rest of my life then feel broken. At least anger has a purpose. Greif makes you feel empty but anger, anger burns through you.” His lip quirked up at the side, just a bit. “Maybe I was always destined to burn, Stiles.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say to that but he didn’t get a chance to reply anyways. His eyes caught Scott’s just as they turned a bright, inhuman yellow and he ducked away from Allison.

“You get Scott, I’ll make up something to tell Allison.” Stiles ordered, already making his way towards the girl.

“Scott, is something wrong?” Stiles heard Allison asked, and made it to them just in time to push Scott roughly away from her. Derek appeared on his other side and grabbed Scott by the collar of his shirt before dragging him off.

Allison looked at Stiles, her brown eyes wide and terrified. “What’s going on?!” She demanded.

“Uh, just a friendly prank.” Stiles lied through his teeth. He felt awkward, standing there with Allison while she gave him that look that said she clearly wasn’t buying it. He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think of an excuse. “Okay, look, I’m really sorry. The thing is, I went on this date a few months ago and Scott did something to royally mess it up, and since then I’ve sworn that I would get him back, I just didn’t think it would actually take him so long to get a date.” He grinned. “Sorry for ruining your date?”

Allison’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“Really? Most people just go with annoying, but jerk is actually a first for me.” Stiles tried to joke but Allison didn’t laugh. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. How about I pay for your next date? Don’t hate him for this, it’s not his fault. Scott’s a really good guy.” he added.

Her eyes softened and went out of focus for a second. “I know he is, and I’m not going to blame him for-- whatever it is that just happened.”

“Great!” Stiles said enthusiastically. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Here, for your cab home.”

He sped off toward the house before Allison could protest.

He had been to optimistic, believing that Scott would actually be able to finish the date before the change started. He just hoped that things for him and Allison hadn’t been ruined. He genuinely felt bad about that. Scott deserved to be happy.

Stiles burst through the front door of the house just as a cry ripped through the air. It could be heard even over the music, a high pitched, pain filled sound.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek watched as Stiles’ friend Scott transformed before his eyes. At first it had only been the flash of yellow in his eyes when they were in the party, but as Derek carried him to the woods beside the house he started sprouting hair in different places and his teeth had elongated.

Then Scott fell to the ground and his body seemed to almost ripple and when he looked up at Derek afterwards he was no longer Scott. The kind look in his eyes that Derek had noted earlier completely dissolved, leaving behind nothing but the beast within.

Derek took a step back, not out of fear but out of recognition. That’s what his eyes had looked like yesterday when he’d passed the mirror in Stiles’ hallway. Just like that.

Derek shook the thought and grabbed Scott, trying to pit both his wrists in one hand so he could hold the rest of his body down with the other. It was a struggle, though. Scott may be smaller and weaker then him, but he was still strong enough to put up a good fight.

And then Scott bit his arm, hard enough to tear the skin and draw blood, and Derek lost it. The anger that had been simmering in his body for the last twenty four hours suddenly boiled over and the change hit him like a brick. The world around him took on a red tint and all he could focus on was protecting himself and attacking the boy beneath him.

Scott’s instinct seemed to alert him to the threat and he wiggled out from under Derek and crouched low to the ground, like an animal.

Derek jumped at him, one clawed hand going for the jugular while the other went for the stomach. Scott met him in midair and pushed the hand that was going through his throat away, his own claws digging into Derek’s forearm. Derek let out a low, anguished cry as he swatted Scott’s stomach and tore through the thin cotton shirt covering it.

Blood soaked his nails and fingers as he ripped through the soft skin and the animal in roared in ecstasy. He was not weak. He was not helpless. He was strong and able and very capable of killing anyone who tried to harm him.

“What the hell is going on?” A voice behind him, to the right, demanded.

Derek turned positioning his body so he could watch Scott and also watch the new threat. Scott seemed interested in the newcomer as well, but not in the same way as Derek. He obviously didn’t see the threat in the short haired, brown eyed boy, because Scott took a few steps back and sunk even lower to the ground, not in defence but in submission.

Derek didn’t step back. Instead, he launched himself through the air the same way he had went at Scott, but this time the person he was attacking didn’t fight back. He let Derek push him to the ground, not making any moves to fight back. He must have thought about it, though, because for just a moment his eyes flashed a bright, unnatural green.

“I told you,” Stiles said quietly, looking up at Derek with sad eyes. “Once you give yourself over to the anger it’s hard to get control again.”

There was no disappointment coming from Stiles, but he felt it coming from himself anyways. He’d just attacked the one and only person in the entire world willing to help him, the only person who had ever tried to comfort him.

He stood up and tried to avoid looking straight into Stiles eyes as another emotion, one that he was more comfortable, flared up inside him.

“I could have killed you!” Derek shouted. It took every ounce of his self control not to talk over to Stiles and punch him right in his concerned looking face. “Why the hell didn’t you fight back?”

Stiles shrugged. “Because I knew you weren’t actually going to hurt me.”

“Oh, you knew?” Derek questioned, disdain dripping from his words. “You don’t _know_ , Stiles. You don’t even know me. I could kill you. Don’t ever for a second think that when I’m like that, you’re not in danger.”

“I think we have a more pressing issue then whether you will or will not actually kill me.” Stiles noted, watching Scott.

Derek had completely forgotten about him for a moment, but now as he watched Scott claw at the ground, back arched, he no longer felt threatened. It was more like watching a sad, hurt animal.

“What did you do to him?” Stiles asked, horrified.

“Nothing! Nothing that won’t heal in a few minutes, anyways. Whatever’s going on with him, that’s not my fault.” Derek said quickly.

Stiles shot Derek and annoyed look and ran to his best friend’s side. “Scott,” Stiles said in a calm voice. “Scott, hey, can you hear me?”

Scott lifted his yellow eyes to Stiles and barred his teeth. Derek only had a second to move and push Stiles out of the way before Scott attacked, his jaw clamping down had on Derek’s shoulder.

“Damn it,” Derek muttered, attempting to pull Scott off of him without ripping a chunk out of his shoulder. He had to stick his hand inside Scott’s mouth and press down on his tongue and finally he released him.

“What are we going to do with him?” Stiles asked, not bending down to lend a helping hand to Derek, who was again trying to pin Scott down.

“First of all, did you deal with Allison?”

Scott’s head wiped up at the name and he made a loud, whimpering sound.

“That’s really pathetic.” Derek commented, making a face. “Let’s take him to your house.”

Stiles shook his head quickly. “We can’t. My dad will pick up your scent and we’ll all be dead.”

Derek sighed loudly. Why he agreed to this, he had no idea. He convinced himself that it was because Stiles had offered to help him figure out what killed his sister, but a part of him knew that was only half of it.

Stiles had helped him yesterday. Really, truly helped him when he needed it the most in his entire life, and he owed Stiles. He didn’t like owing people.

“Let’s take him to the warehouse.” He decided. “But you have to help me carrying him. He’s so--freaking-- fidgety.” Derek got out as he tried to stand while keeping Scott restrained.

“There’s no way I can drive with him like that.” Stiles pointed out. “Not without crashing and, to be honest, I’m pretty attached to my jeep.”

Derek resisted the urge to snap at Stiles in annoyance. He knew this would be difficult when he agreed to help and, as much as he considered it, he wasn’t going to abandon Stiles in his time of need. Even if it meant dealing with a newly bitten werewolf experiencing his first full moon.

“Then we better start walking.”

 

* * *

 

“We can tie him up.” Derek suggested at Stiles pushed open the door to the warehouse. It was dark inside but his eyes easily adjusted. “There’s some chains to the left of that table over there.”

Scott started twisting in Derek’s arms, teeth snatching at the air in anger. “You’re not going to tie me up.” he said angrily through his teeth.

“Are you sure about that?” Derek shot back. “Because I’m pretty certain we are.”

Stiles grabbed the chains from beside the table. They were thick and strong and he tried briefly to break them. When he couldn’t, he brought them over to Derek.

“We have to tie him to something.” Derek said while looking around. “The train car, over there--,”

“Stiles, come on, you’re not actually going to tie me up.” Scott said in what would have been a reasonable tone, if not for the fact that the words were smothered by his canines. “You’re my best friend, why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m doing this _for_ you,” Stiles pointed out, not falling for it. “And trust me, Scott, you’re not the first person I’ve seen change at a full moon, so you’re going to have to do better than a guilt trip.”

Derek held Scott in place while Stiles wound the chains around his wrist and then around his left leg. He tied it to one of the poles of the train car and Derek let go of Scott to see if he could get free, crouching down not far from him just in case he managed to.

Scott pulled at the chains, acting like a rabid dog. Cries sounded though the air and Stiles expression took on a concerned, guilty look.

“It’s not your fault.” Derek told him before he could stop himself. He wasn’t used to wanting to comfort anyone, let alone someone that he was supposed to hate. Someone that he thought he had hated, until those brown eyes met his and all the anger he’d built up over the years for the Stilinski’s had disintegrated.

Stiles gave him a disbelieving look. “He’s my best friend. He doesn’t know what’s out there, but I do. I should have prepared him, or warned him, or protected him or something.”

“The damage is already done. No point beating yourself up over it.”

“Ever try taking your own advice?” Stiles countered, raising an eyebrow.

Derek turned away from him. “Whatever. We’ve got a few more hours of this so what do you suggest we do?”

Stiles sighed and sat down on the floor, as far away from Scott as he could manage. He made a point of not looking at his best friend at all, even when Scott started pulling so hard on the chains that his wrists started to bleed.

“So,” Stiles said conversationally, as if his best friend was writhing around like a crazy person in the corner. “Got any idea what it was that, you know…?”

Derek shook his head. He’d went back to his house after leaving Stiles two nights ago and he hadn’t been able to find a familiar scent. The only thing he could pick up was the scents of his family, and the blood that seemed to coat every area of the living room.

His sister had been torn apart. Literally. Her limbs had been scattered around the living room as if she’d exploded. There had been blood everywhere, and Derek had gotten covered in the stuff when he’d tried to find every… every piece of her. He took a deep breath and pushed the imagine from her mind. He could still feel it there, though. The warm, dripping blood on his hands. Stiles had cleaned it off him but it was still there. Invisible.

That feeling would probably never go away, he admitted to himself. He didn’t want it to, either. He wanted that feeling forever, so he could hold on to it. Hold on to the anger. It was like a flotation device, his anger. The only thing keeping him from drowning in everything else.

“I’m going to find it, though.” Derek said with absolute conviction. He stared down at his hands, both of them balled into fists. “And I’m going to kill it.”

Stiles nodded in agreement and leaned back on the palms of his hands, long legs stretched out in front of him. Derek made a point not to look at them.

Derek was happy to sit there for the next couple hours in silence. Quiet had never bothered him, and he wasn’t one of those people who felt the need to constantly be talking. Besides, the more you talked the more you gave away, and the more you gave away, the more ammunition people had against you.

Staying quiet wasn’t a choice, it was a survival strategy, in his mind.

Stiles, on the other hand, seemed to feel differently.

“So what did you do when you left Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked after only a minute or two of silence.

Derek grunted the word “stuff,” in response.

“Oh, come one,” Stiles urged. “We’re going to be here for hours. If we don’t find something to do or talk about I’m going to rip my hair out.”

That would be pretty hard, considering the fact that there wasn’t much of it. Stiles was just going to have to deal with him not talking, because Derek didn’t talk. To anyone. Not really. Not even his sister, when they’d lived together.

“My sister and I were living in New York.” Derek found himself answering anyways. “We had an apartment. Just the two of us. Neither of us were ever really home, though. She had her life, I had mine, and ours only intertwined when we ended up coming home to eat or shower at the same time.”

“That sounds… lonely.” Stiles told him.

Derek shrugged. It was lonely, but that’s how he liked it. Things were better when you were alone because then there’s no one to worry about but you.

Derek vowed not to answer another one of Stiles’ stupid questions, but the next one he asked caught him off guard.

“What’s your favorite colour?”

“I-- what? Green?” Derek fumbled, confused. “Why?”

Stiles grinned. “Huh, I took you for more of a black or brown kind of guy. Green. That’s interesting. What about your favorite food?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Derek demanded. They were sitting in a warehouse while his best friend tried to break out of the restraints that were holding him in place to keep him from going on a murderous rampage, and Stiles wanted to know what his favorite food was?

“Spaghetti.” Derek said after a moment. “Okay?”

“Wow, that’s--,”

“Shut up.” Derek ordered.

Stiles’ grin got wider.

“STiles? Stiles, what’s going on?” Scott asked, his voice weak.

Both boys turned to the chained up werewolf, except he was no longer a werewolf. Scott’s eyes had returned to their usual brown and his teeth were at a normal length.

Derek heard Stiles’ sigh of relief as he approached his friend. “Hey, man,” Stiles said, hands reaching for the chains.

“Why am I tied up?” Scott asked, eyes wide. “And where’s Allison?”

“That’s kind of a long story.” Stiles muttered, wrestling with the chains. Derek may have managed to tie them a bit too tight. “And she’s fine. She’ll probably never speak to me again, but she’ll forgive you, at least.”

“Stiles, tell me what is going on.” Scott demanded, slowly enunciating every word.

“I’m too old for this.” Stiles commented as he finally managed to get the chains off.

“You’re a teenager.” Derek felt compelled to point out.

“You’re right. I’m too young for this.” Stiles corrected.

“Stiles!” Scott shouted.

 

* * *

 

Derek was relieved that Stiles decided to save the, “You’re a werewolf!” speech for his drive home with Scott. There were some things that were just too uncomfortable to witness, and that was definitely going to be one of them.

But the second the two boys left and all distractions were gone, Derek was left to his own thoughts, and that was always dangerous.

He tried to busy himself with cleaning the warehouse. If this was where he was going to stay for the time being, he wanted to be able to be comfortable. What he need, though, was a job. A job and an apartment. Or something.

Maybe he should just leave Beacon Hills all together. But no, he couldn’t do that until he avenged his sister.

One thing that kept nagging at him since he’d made up his mind to hunt down what killed Laura was what next? What was he going to do afterwards? The obvious answer is leave Beacon Hills straight away, but then after that what was he going to do?

Maybe he would just end it. Give up. Find someone to take pity on him and kill him, or put a bullet in his head. What else was there to do? Continue living when he had nothing left?

But he wouldn’t kill himself. He was weak and he was afraid of dying. So instead he would find a way to ride out his pain. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to go insane and forget everything. That wouldn’t be too bad.

The scene from his living room flashed through his mind again and he stumbled in his step, nearly falling to the ground. He clutched at the table in front of him to stay upright as the scene played over in his head.

Walking into the house, smelling the blood faintly beneath the smell of the decaying house. Seeing her there, scattered, the only piece still completely put together was her head, and even that was scratched and ripped apart.

He couldn’t control the memories. They always seemed to jump out at them when he least needed, or expected, it. It was like a waking nightmare.

He dug his nails into his palm and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. Except that didn’t work. He didn’t need to calm down, he needed to get angry, because anger was the only thing that could clear his mind anymore.

He imagined ripping apart what killed her the same way it had ripped apart his sister. How satisfying it would be to end it after what it did.

But then a face popped into his mind, one with an eyebrow raised and its lips kind of pursed, as if he was annoyed or worried. And his brown eyes were filled with both concern and terror.

Stiles.

And the anger slipped away.

“Damn it,” Derek slammed his fist on the table.

“You okay?” Stiles asked from behind him.

Derek whirled, grabbing the blade from the table and preparing to through it. When he realized that it really was Stiles, though, he dropped it.

“What do you want?”

Stiles had his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Derek noted that this was usual behaviour for him, since he’d done it more than once in his presence “My uh… my dad and I were talking when I got home. I guess he found some prints. Werewolf prints.” Stiles shrugged and looked up at him, as if he could tell that he’d interrupted some kind of mental break down Derek had been having. “It might have been what killed your sister.”

Derek nodded. “Where?”

“By the movie theatre. Dad thinks it might have been following someone, or maybe it’s just a fan of Will Ferrell movies.” Stiles joked lamely. “Anyways, he’s already checked the place out. He figured it was you so he didn’t follow the trail, but that means that we can go check it out without having him be there.”

“Then let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles tried to pick up the scent of the werewolf outside the movie theatre, but all he could focus on was the delicious smell of popcorn wafting through the air.

“I can’t get anything.” Stiles announced after a few moments.

Derek seemed to ignore him as he crouched lower and sniffed the air. Derek had been nearly silent the either time, actually, now that he thought about it. Since the moment Stiles walked into the warehouse and told him what he’d found out.

It was like he went on autopilot, his only purpose to find whatever had killed Laura so he could kill it. It scared Stiles, but not because Derek frightened him, but because he was frightened for him.

And that was just ridiculous for so many reasons the first one being that Derek was about two hundred pounds of muscle and werewolf fury, and he had already shown many signs of being capable of handling himself. And then there was the fact that Stiles didn’t care about Derek. No, that wasn’t right. He hated Derek. Or was supposed to, except he couldn’t seem to hold on to that emotion whenever Derek was around him.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Derek asked as Stiles started to follow behind him. “It could be dangerous.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in annoyance and then, in the blink of an eye, brought on the change. Derek’s eyes widened as he took in Stiles completely changed form, green eyes, hairy face, long teeth and all. “I can take care of myself.” Stiles told him.

He already had to deal with his dad treating him like a little kid who couldn’t protect himself. He wouldn’t have Derek doing it too, especially when Derek was hardly any older then he was.

“I guess you can.” Derek agreed, leading the way.

The fact that most of Beacon Hills properties led to a forest was both a blessing and a curse. Right now, it was a curse.

Derek and Stiles made there way deep into the cropping of trees by the movie theatre, following whatever scent Derek had managed to pick up.

“Dead end.” Derek muttered, noticing the small creek ahead. “Whoever it was is smart. They ran right through that and I can’t find the scent anymore.”

Stiles frowned. The trail shouldn’t just end like that. Even with the water it should have muted, sure, but Derek should have still been able to pick it up.

Unless… “What if it didn’t cut off?” Stiles asked, eyebrows coming together.

“What do you mean?”

“What if the trail didn’t end. What if it’s still--,”

Stiles didn’t manage to get the rest of the sentence out. Something slammed into his side, hard, and the wind knocked out of him.

He immediately let his instinct take over, kicking up at his attacked with his back feet. Derek’s cry ripped through the air and the ‘wolf on top of him jumped out of the way, only barely being missed by Derek’s claws.

It was bigger then any werewolf Stiles had met before. It bared its teeth at them, positioning itself so it could keep its eyes on both him and Derek.

“Left,” Derek growled at Stiles, and he only had a second to be confused before Derek launched itself at the thing and Stiles understood what he meant.

Stiles darted to the left and the werewolf couldn’t watch him if he wanted to fend off the attack from Derek. The second he looked away Stiles jumped him, his claws digging deep into the beasts shoulder.

But it was almost like it was expecting their plan, and it wiped its head around, red eyes flashing, and swatted at Stiles. He felt the claws rake across his throat and there was a moment of shock that someone had actually managed to hurt him there, and then the world went fuzzy and everything disappeared.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles, come on,” someone shouted. He was being shaken like a rag doll and the movement hurt him.

He could distinctly hear the sound of shoes slapping pavement and then he was jostled out of whoever’s arms he was in and into another. “What did you do to my son?” An angry voice bellowed.

“I didn’t do it!” Derek denied, and Stiles slowly blinked open his eyes.

“Stiles, can you hear me?” His dad sounded panicked. “Stiles!”

“Did you kill it?” He asked, the words coming out weird, or maybe it just sounded weird to his pounding head. “Did you kill him?”

Derek ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “We were fighting a werewolf, the one that I think killed Laura and he-- he managed to get Stiles. I didn’t know what to do, I panicked, and he ran off. I couldn’t go after him. I had to-- he’s _dying_.”

“He’s not dying.” Stiles’ father said firmly. “Do you hear me? You are not dying. Not on my watch.”

It was hard to keep himself awake. He could feel sleep pulling on him. It was like a warm blanket, begging him to let go and drift away.

“What about sleeping?” Stiles asked, his eyelids drooping. “Can I do that on your watch?”

Someone slapped him in the face, hard, before he could pass out. A loud ringing sounded in his ear and everything else was blocked out by the pain. It felt like his throat had been cut open. Oh, wait…

“Help me get him inside.” He heard his dad order. “Open the door!”

Someone flicked on a light but the brightness only increased his headache. He was placed on something hard and uncomfortable and he groaned.

“I need towels and water.”

“Dad, calm down,” Stiles urged, but his voice was weak. “’s okay. Promise.”

“Hurry up!” His dad shouted.

Something cold and wet pressed against his throat and he realized why Derek was sent to get towels. They burned against his cut and he tried not to cry out, but a moan escaped him anyways. He didn’t want everyone else to freak out so he tried his best not to make any more noise. It was best not to let them know how much pain he was in.

“Go,” his dad said in a low voice, and Stiles forced his eyes open again. Derek was staring at his dad, green eyes wide and wet with tears that shocked Stiles. “You’ve done enough, go.”

“I need to know if he’s going to be okay--,”

“Get out of my house.” The words were spoken with all the force of an alpha, and Stiles could feel the power of them sizzle in the room. Derek had no choice.

Stiles wanted to tell his dad that he wanted Derek to stay but then decided that it was probably best if he didn’t. He couldn’t have his dad look at him with the same hatred in his eyes that he had for Derek.

“Can I sleep now?” Stiles asked instead. This time he didn’t wait for answer before falling under.

 

* * *

 

Stiles awoke hours later, still feeling like someone ran over him with a truck, but his neck no longer felt like it was on fire. He sat up slowly, trying not to move anything that might ache.

“You’re awake.” His dad commented. He was sitting on the chair in his room, elbows propped on his knees.

“I don’t want to be.” Stiles admitted, rubbing a hand over his face “What time is it?”

“Late. Or early.” His dad told him. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” It was then that he noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I thought I was going to lose you. I really did. I was ready to kill that boy--,”

“It wasn’t Derek.” Stiles said quickly, almost defensively.

“I know, but he was there. He should have-- it should have been him that got hurt, not you.” His dad shook his head. “You’re not to go near that boy again, do you hear me? I’m serious this time, Stiles. Actually, you know what? You’re grounded. Yep. Grounded. You’ll go to school and then come straight to the station and sit with me until I get home.”

Despite how weak he felt, he still managed to muster up a fit of anger. “That’s not fair!”

“Yes, it is.” His dad growled. “I specifically told you not to go near that Hale boy, and you didn’t listen. So now you’re going to have to live with the consequences, whether you like them or not.”

“That’s not fair!”

“If it keeps you alive and away from Derek, I really don’t care if it’s fair or not.”

“I’m going back to sleep.” Stiles grumbled, rolling over.

“Good, because you have school in the morning.”

“Yeah, because having your throat practically ripped out doesn’t warrant a day off.”

 

* * *

 

On top of waking up with the worst head ache of his life, his throat being covered in bandages and being grounded to his father’s side for the rest of eternity, Scott also wasn’t talking to him. He avoided Stiles in the hallway and didn’t sit with him at lunch.

That was fair, he admitted to himself. He could see where Scott was coming from. That didn’t make it suck any less.

He slogged through the day with a weight on his shoulder, knowing that even when the bell rang he wouldn’t get to go home and relax. That made it worse. There was nothing to look forward too.

And there was a small, tiny little part of him that wished Derek would show up, like that day in the hallway, or in his car. But of course that would be a good thing, and it was just a ‘nothing good is going to happen’ kind of day.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, come on.” Stiles muttered, crossing his ankles and leaning back in his chair. He was sitting in his father’s office, watching him go over paperwork. There wasn’t even any interesting cases happening to keep his attention. “If you make me do this for another day I swear I’ll go home and chug a bottle of bleach.”

“We don’t have any bleach.” Sheriff Stilinski noted, not looking up. “Remind me to pick some up on the way home.”

“Dad, it’s been a week.” Stiles complained. “Do you know how boring this is for me?”

“That’s what happens when you deliberately disobey me.” His dad told him.

“I didn’t _deliberately_  disobey you. It was more of an accident. A string of circumstances I couldn’t control.”

“Well, because of those circumstances, you’re grounded.”

Stiles let out an annoyed breath of air. “For how long?”

“Until I decide otherwise.” His sad said firmly.

Stiles closed his eyes and counted to ten, calming himself. He had better things to be doing then sitting in this office. Like talking to Scott, making him forgive him. And finding Derek. He hadn’t seen the older boy since his grounding. Not that he expected Derek to be around, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He was worried.

“Sheriff?” An officer, Sam Wilston, knocked urgently on the door and Stiles’ dad waved him in. “We have a disturbance at the High School. It seems some kids have broken in.”

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. “I’m on it.” He told Wilston as he stood up. He turned to Stiles and gave him a stern look. “Don’t you move until I get back. Wilston, if he walks out that front door you tell me.”

Wilston nodded.

“Why not just lock me up?” Stiles suggested, rolling his eyes.  
“Don’t think I didn’t consider it.” His dad told him as he walked out the door.

Stiles watched him go, making faces at his back. He was restless and bored and now he had to sit there alone.

As soon as his father was gone and he heard his car pull away from the building, Stiles got up to sit at his dad’s desk. There had to be something interesting to read. Maybe a cool case. Anything would be better then just sitting there.

He was flicking through important files the he knew his father would kill him for touching when the radio on his desk started making noise.

“We’ve gotten a call about a fire.” A static filled voice said.

Stiles quickly picked up the receiver. He tried to make his voice sound deeper as he answered. “Where?”

“Out by the old Hale house.” The voice informed him.

Stiles dropped the receiver and stared at it. What were the chances it was just a coincidence? There was nothing else out there but woods. Maybe some teenagers started a camp fire and it got out of hand.

But the sinking feeling in Stiles’ stomach said otherwise.

He got out of the desk and went to the door, peeking his head around the corner. Wilston was sitting at the front desk, scrolling through something on the computer. He would see if Stiles left.

“I guess I’m stuck here.” Stiles said, and chuckled to himself and went over to the window.

It was already starting to get dark out even though it was barely past seven. He jumped gracefully onto the lawn below the window and turned around to make sure Wilston wasn’t standing there looking down at him, ready to call his dad.

When he knew he was in the clear he started running in the direction he knew would take him to the Hale house. He’d go faster in his Jeep but he couldn’t take it, even though it was parked around the back of the station. Someone would hear it. Plus, his dad had his keys.

Running wasn’t bad, though. He was faster than a normal person and he didn’t get winded nearly as quickly. But the time it could take him to run there could be the difference between life or death.

He didn’t even have to get all the way to the house to see the smoke. It billowed over the trees in large, threatening looking clouds. It wasn’t the smoke that was frightening, exactly. Just what it promised below.

There were no sirens of flashing lights and Stiles frowned as he got closer. There should have been fire trucks, policeman, ambulances. Even if it was just an old abandoned house. That was protocol. He couldn’t be the only person who picked up that call.

Unless it wasn’t an official police call… The thought hit Stiles suddenly and he came to a halt in his run. What if it was a trap? What if someone lit the place on fire to lure him out there? What if they knew he was in that room, alone. Or if it was meant for his dad…

He should turn around and go back, he knew, but there was a part of him that realized Derek could very well be in that house, especially if it is a trap.

He made it to the house not a minute later. The flames seemed to leap towards the sky, burning higher than he would have thought possible. The smoke tasted acrid in his mouth as he got closer. It filled his nose, blocking out any other scent.

“Derek!” He shouted, leaping up the porch step. He covered his mouth with the front of his shirt. “Derek!”

It was his instinct that pushed him forward, through the front door that was open on its hinges. It was hard to see or smell. He had to rely on his hearing and feeling his way around.

He searched the entire bottom floor, his lungs protesting the whole time. He was hot, too. Sweat drenched his t-shirt and he considered just discarding it all together but then thought the better of it.

The fire itself was avoidable, for the most part. It was worse in the back of the house then the front. It was just the _smoke_ that made it impossible.

He stumbled up the staircase, trying not to step on any broken or weak steps. His foot went through the step at the top anyways, despite his caution, and he had to uncover his mouth for a moment to break free of it.

Ash and smoke clogged his throat and he coughed. It was a dry sound, not like the usual wet cough he had. His throat felt raw and he knew wondered how long he could do this for before he got light-headed and passed out.

“Derek!” He called once again, standing on the second floor landing.

Lack of oxygen was making his head throb and his blood pound in his ears, but he faintly heard the outraged cry of a werewolf. Of Derek.

“Where are you?” Stiles yelled, jumping down the flight of stairs. He didn’t even both to walk. He didn’t have time. “Derek, I can’t--,”

“Go!” Derek yelled, his voice sounding hollow. It was coming from below, to the right…

Stiles ran to the basement door, pushing it open with enough force to break it. He shoulders past the door, now off it’s hinges, and started down the stairs.

The first must have started down here, he realized. The basement was almost completely encompassed with flames. His clothes clung to him and the smoke smothered him, even through his shirt.

At the bottom of the stairs he could feel the flames on his skin, threatening to burn him alive.

He headed in the direction he thought the voice had come from. The basement wasn’t large, not large enough for the size of the house, anyways.

A piece of burning wood blocked his path and he pushed it aside. It scolded his hands and he felt blisters form almost immediately. Lucky for him, they healed nearly as fast.

None of it mattered at that moment, anyways. Not the fire, catching on his clothes. Not the smoke, filling his lungs.

Just finding Derek.

Finally he hit a wall. Frantically he ran his hand up and down it, looking for a door. There had to be one. His voice had come from farther to the right then this.

After what felt like an eternity his hand brushed a handle. He grabbed it, twisting it in his hand as quickly as he could manage.

The door led to a hallway. The hallways itself was filled with smoke, more than should have been possible considering the flames hadn’t seemed to be able to breach the door.

“Derek!” Stiles called weakly. He was fumbling now, barely able to stand straight. Black spots were forming in his vision and the world seemed darker than it should, like someone had dimmed the lights.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was barely audible. Stiles had never been more grateful for werewolf hearing in his life.

There was a door off the hallway, and Derek was behind it. Stiles could smell him not, even through the thick smoke and the decayed smell of the burning house. He wondered if it would just collapse on them now, trap and kill them both.

_Don’t think like that_ , he ordered himself.

He tried the door, pushing on it with his shoulder, but it didn’t move. It was locked. 

He didn’t have the energy for this, to push it open with sheer force. He had to try a different approach.

He lengthened his nails, sticking the pink nail inside the lock. It didn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t.

“Damn it!” He slammed his fist on the door. “Derek, just hold on, it’s locked!”

When he didn’t get a response a cold chill went through him. He was in a burning house, heat pressing down on him from every direction, and he suddenly felt cold, as if he was standing in the snow, completely naked.

“Derek!” It was more an anguished cry then a question this time. Stiles took a step back and, using most of the energy he had left, he kicked the door hard with his left foot.

It didn’t pop open, like he’d hoped, but his foot went through the door. The scrambled to get unstuck and then started kicking again and again, widening the hole until it was big enough that he could reach his arm through it and unlock the door.

The smoke in this room was almost as bad as it was in the hallway, but there was a small, grate covered opening at the back of the room that was letting some of it out.

Derek was in the middle of the small place, hanging by chains from a wall. His head flopped uselessly on his neck, tilting forward and to the side, and his eyes were closed. His dark t-shirt was discarded, ripped to shreds on the floor beside him, and drops of sweat trickled down his bare chest.

Stiles shook him by his shoulders and his head lolled to the side.

“Crap,” he muttered to himself before sucking in a breath, which really wasn’t a good idea, and slapping Derek in the face.

A red mark appeared on his cheek before his eyes even started to blink open. When they did, Stiles sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank god.” Stiles sighed, never in his life happier to see those greyish green eyes of his. “You good? I need to get you out of here. Is there a key, or something? Derek?”

“Stiles,” the other boy mumbled, his lips tilting up at the corner just a bit.

“Yeah, Stiles. Stiles needs your _help_ ,” he urged, looking around the space. “Come on, I need a key!”

“No… key.” Derek got out. His voice was strangled, the smoke and ash affecting him worse than it had Stiles. How long had he been down here? And who had put him down here?

But he didn’t have time for that right now.

“There’s got to be a key.” Stiles said, frustrated.

There wasn’t much in the room. The restraints holding Derek took up the left wall, and the other three walls were bare, except for the window on the one. There was a small table, too, but it was old and rickety.

Still…

He went over to it and ripped the drawers from it. They clattered to the ground, empty. Heat scorched his back and he realized his biggest mistake: he’d left the door to the hallway open.

The flames had crawled their way through the hallway, catching quickly on the splintered door. Stiles stared at them in trepidation for a second. Panic later, he told himself.

There _had_ to be a key. Those restraints were something he recognized. Used to hold back a werewolf on a full moon. That meant that there had to be a key somewhere. A back up one, just in case, because those chains were not going to break.

Then it hit him. Where better to hide the key then the most obvious place?

There were restraints for the legs, too, but whoever chained Derek up hadn’t bothered. Stiles bent down and examined the left one, trying not to notice as the fire crept into the room.

It was there, sticking out of the lock for the right restraint: a small, rusted key, not even the size of his pinky. He grabbed it, working as quickly as he could to jam it into the locks of Derek’s restraints.

“Stay with me,” he ordered Derek, who had closed his eyes once again. “You hear me?”

Derek mumbled a consent, his eyes still closed.

When the second restraint fell open, Derek slipped to the floor. Stiles grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

He started towards the door but the flames closed in on him. Changing his direction, he headed towards the bared window. He could just manage to push Derek up and out them, he knew, it he could get it open.

“Latch,” Derek murmured. “There’s a latch.”

Stiles ran his hand over the bottom of the window until his found it. He clicked it and pushed the bars up.

Stiles energy was running thin and it took him more effort than it should have to push Derek up, through the window. Somehow he managed, though. Then he gripped the ledge and pulled himself up, ignoring the fact that the hem of his shirt was on fire and was searing his skin.

Derek was kneeling on all fours, coughing up his lungs. Stiles took his first big breath in what felt like hours, not even minding that it burned his throat. He was too busy patting out the fire on his shirt to check on him. There was a large, gaping, charred hole when he was done.

“We’ve got to get away from the house.” He told Derek.

Derek made a low, moaning sound and pushed himself shakily to his feet. He swayed on the spot, looking like any move he made would knock him out.

Stiles just wanted to lay down, close his eyes, and sleep for a year. But he meant it when he said they had to get farther from the house. Clouds of smoke still escaped the window, tainting the fresh air, and it was deathly hot.

He put his arm around Derek’s waist and together the two of them stumbled into the woods.

When they got far enough away that they could only faintly smell the smoke, Stiles let go of Derek and the two of them fell into heaps on the ground, side by side. They laid like that for a few moments, both of them sucking down breaths as if they we worried they weren’t every going to breath in fresh air again which, technically, had been a possibility not five minutes ago.

“You’re an idiot.” Derek grumbled, breaking the silence.

Stiles propped himself up on one arm and turned to give Derek an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re an idiot.” His voice was still gravely and raw, but it was sounding stronger than it did inside the building. “You could have died.”

“And you definitely would had, if it wasn’t for me.” Stiles said angrily. “You know, there’s this thing, called thanking someone. That’s usually what you do after they save your life, not call them an idiot.”

Derek reached up and grabbed Stiles by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down on top of him. Their lips touched briefly, and Derek’s were chapped and tasted like char and smoke, but Stiles ignored that, because underneath was the natural smell of _Derek_ that clung to him, and there was a hard sort of need in the way that he pressed his lips against Stiles, and so he could do nothing but sit there and enjoy it, bask in it, while it lasted.

When Derek released him Stiles fell back onto the ground, his back hitting the dirt with a soft thud. “Or that. That works too.” He said, and then groaned.

“Well, isn’t this cute.” A voice commented, pulling both boys from their thoughts of each other. “I really hate to interrupt such an adorable young couple.”

Stiles frowned up at the man who had interrupted them, confused. Derek, on the other hand, had jumped up into a defensive position, eyes flashing and teeth bared. If Stiles hadn’t known what they’d just went through, experienced it with him, he wouldn’t have any idea that Derek had just been on his knees, coughing up an hours worth of smoke just five minutes ago.

“Really, Derek? You’re going to attack me?” The man asked, giving Derek an amusedly disappointed look. “That worked so well for you last time, didn’t it? I recall it ended in you getting tied up in your basement as I burned the building down around you.”

Derek growled and Stiles scrambled up, despite how weak his every limb felt.

“What do you want?” Derek demanded, watching as the man started to walk around them in a circle.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He wondered out loud, a smile forming on his lips. It was a cruel looking gesture. “Beacon Hills. There’s a reason this place has always been populated by ‘wolves, you know. It’s the perfect little town to occupy.” He cocked his head to the side. “Of course, I had to deal with the current population before I could call it my own, though, starting with killing most of your family.”

Derek’s pawed hand clawed the dirt beneath him and his eyes bright blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“And your mother too, Stiles.” The man added. “Though that was trickier. You see, it’s not easy to take on two families of werewolves, especially when they’re so close that they’d band together and protect each other.” He laughed. “It was painfully easy to draw the battle lines between your families, actually. To make it look like it was Derek’s parents who killed your mom.”

Stiles mirrored the man’s movements, not letting a single step go unnoticed in case he prepared to spring. The words sunk in slowly, at first not making any sense.

“And then once Derek and his family were out of the way, all I had left to kill was you and your dear, grieving father.” he continued. “That was a little tricky. He’s too smart, you know, your dad. Too prepared. So I turned your little friend Scott, all with the purpose of expanding my pack, making me stronger. And killing Laura did help, too.” He mused. “She was a pretty little thing, wasn’t she?” He asked Derek. “And did she ever scream! Your name, most of the time, Derek.”

Derek leaped through the air, hands out in front of him. He should have connected with the man but at the last minute he moved quickly to the side and punched Derek in his stomach. Derek doubled over briefly before straightening and preparing another attack.

“After I’m done here, I’ll only have one person left to kill. And I’m sure it will be much easier to take on Sheriff Stilinski when he’s grieving over his son’s death and searching every inch of this town looking for Derek.”

Derek’s leap took him far from Stiles side, and their attacker used that to his advantage. He had been playing at watching Derek, as if he was waiting for him to attack again, but that wasn’t his plan at all, and he was on Stiles before either of them could react.

He brought his claws down, ready to swipe at Stiles throat. Just as his nails were about to connect with the flesh, he was pulled backwards.

He and Derek went tossing through the underbrush, scratching and biting at each other. Stiles watched, trying to think of a way to help that wouldn’t risk him hurting Derek, but they wouldn’t stay still long enough.

And then the man head butted Derek and his eyes fluttered closed. He pushed Derek off him as if he weighed little to nothing, and started towards Stiles.

“You think you can beat me?” He asked, shaking his head at Stiles. “You’re not even full grown yet, little beta, and I’m an alpha.”

Stiles didn’t answer. He just prepared for the next attack.

“At least you’ll die knowing that he tried to protect you. That’s got to mean something, doesn’t it?”

He took a step towards Stiles, legs bent at the knees, readying a jump, when a shot rang out through the forest. The man stopped dead I his tracks, mouth open in a perfect circle, eyes filled with shock. A dribble of blood leaked from his mouth and he fell forward, hitting the ground face first.

“Are you okay?” His dad asked, running to his side. He ran a hand over Stiles head, examining him. “Stiles--,”

“Derek,” he got out, too shocked to form any other words.

“He’s fine, just unconscious. Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, no. Derek-- he pulled him off me before he could do any damage.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “I know. I arrived just in time for that.” He admitted. “But I couldn’t make a move until he threw Derek off him. I could have ended up shooting Derek instead.”

He looked down at the unconscious dark haired boy, something like wonder in his eyes. And regret. “I didn’t know.” he said quietly. “I thought-- I really thought they killed her, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded numbly. “I know. We all did.”

His dad pulled him to him and wrapped him in a tight hug for a moment before pushing him away. “Okay, let’s get him out of here. The fire department should be here any minute now, and what you boys need is a drink and sleep.”

His dad picked up Derek and put his arm over his shoulder. It couldn’t have been easy, even with his werewolf strength. Derek was deadweight.

And Stiles couldn’t help. He could barely walk. It was all just too much all at once. The fire, saving Derek, kissing Derek, finding out that the feud between their families was over something that neither of them could help, and then watching that man die, right before his eyes.

But as he watched his father stuff Derek gently into the back seat of his car, he knew it would be alright. He just knew.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

Stiles pulled into the Beacon Hills High School parking lot, looking out for a certain car. When he spotted it, the sleek, black vehicle, parked at the end of the lot near the woods, he drove over to it, parking in the spot right beside it. Normally he would park closer to the school but he figured that the longer walk was worth it.

He wasn’t even fully out the door when Derek was by his side.

“You coming over tonight?” Stiles asked him, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “I know your dad doesn’t hate me anymore but he’s got enough access to guns that I really don’t want him to come home and find me in your bed.”

Stiles chuckled and leaned against his jeep, pulling Derek by the waist band of his jeans until their bodies were pressed together, lips only an inch apart. “Are you sure?” Stiles pushed, a smile playing on his lips.

One thing Stiles had learned was that Derek didn’t like to be teased. He ignored Stiles’ words and kissed him, cutting off any other possible words he was thinking of saying.

Stiles let out a small groan and ran his tongue along Derek’s bottom lip, and Derek parted his, letting his tongue explore Stiles’, until someone behind them coughed.

They jumped apart, guilty looks on both their faces. What Stiles hadn’t expected, though, was for Scott to be standing there, the same look mirrored on his own face, only his was mixed with regret, not embarrassment.

“Hey,” he said after a moment.

“Hi.” Stiles said back.

Scott had continued to ignore him for almost three weeks now. He’d done everything he could, going to Scott’s locker, attempting to talk to him after lacrosse, but Scott had blown him off every time. He figured the only thing keeping him from being overly depressed by this was Derek’s now constant presence, but there was still a gaping hole where his best friend had been.

“So, werewolves…” Scott commented, grimacing.

“Yep.” Stiles nodded.

“That’s impossible, you know.”

“Apparently not.” Stiles pointed out.

Scott nodded again and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “So um, do you want to come over later and play Halo?”

Stiles shrugged, playing it cool. “I guess that’d be good. Yeah.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” Derek whispered in Stiles ear, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“So you’ve reconsidered?” Stiles asked, grinning.

Derek narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “If you’re dad shoots me I’m never forgiving you.”

Stiles laughed as he went to join Scott’s side and Derek climbed into his car. After everything, things were not back to normal. They were better.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from tumblr. Any reviews are greatly appreciated! :)


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